The Art of the "Now"

Destiny is no matter of chance. It is a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for, it is a thing to be achieved.
William Jennings Bryan

Zen – the school of thought that enlightenment can be attained through meditation, self-contemplation, and intuition (to paraphrase Webster’s). In other words, being completely and wholly focused on, and in, the “now.” Not distracted by the “but tomorrow I need to’s,” or the “in five minutes I’m going to,” but completely focused, body and soul, on “right now.”

A friend of mine and I travel similar journeys of raising sons differently-abled through autism, often comparing notes, using each other’s shoulders to cry on and bouncing ideas both practical and impractical off of each other. One of the differences between us is that I do so as a single parent, and have four children, instead of just the one child. However, I was struck by just how perfectly the zen-inspired phrase "the art of the now" fits what all parents are ultimately required to do, no matter what type of child we are raising, or what type of family configuration we are doing it within.

Dealing with a normal (or neuro-typical) child, it is easy when we are preoccupied to slough off a demand with one of the stock parental phrases: “In a minute,” “wait a while,” or even “not now, I’m busy.” But those phrases are incomprehensible to my son. Mr. B’s reality exists solely in the “now”...anything other than an immediate response to his request is intolerable. As I school myself to consistently respond to my son “in the now” – to stop what I am doing, and totally focus all of my attention on what he is trying to tell to me – our relationship and understanding of the unspoken communication between us has become extraordinary and we no longer speak gibberish to the other. Originally completely non-verbal, Mr. B’s deepest emotional communication still remain nonverbal – sniffing touches on my hands and arms, “baby-bear” kisses and growls on my neck when he’s the most happy, or simply holding my face in his hands as we gaze into each other’s eyes. And though I am grateful he now uses more and more words to express his needs and wants as we struggle together to bridge the chasm between his world and ours, it is in those moments uncluttered by the inadequacy of words that we understand each other’s heart and soul the most.

Over the past year, as his therapists, sisters and I continually labor to create that bridge between Mr. B’s reality and the world in which he must ultimately live, an interesting side effect has occurred. In working to create that singular focus in my relationship with my son, I see a similar deepening in my relationships with each of my daughters. As a homeschooling parent, the one-on-one attention my children get has always been a priority, but I find myself now dissatisfied with what I previously considered acceptable, and striving to provide that focused attention in more ways than before. And a deeper bond among all of us is emerging because of it.

As we get older, we hurry more, multi-task more, accumulate more, and focus less. Admittedly, it is easy for every day demands to overwhelm our lives. There are career ladders to climb, bills to pay, hobbies to explore, and much more to divert our attention. But shouldn’t we as parents be more focused on our children – trying to achieve that zenlike focus on our children’s “now” - regardless of whether they are “normal” or “differently-abled”? Unspoken communication of the senses, the soul…the self…with another gets lost amid the cacophony of cluttered lives…IPod earbuds or headphones on, CD’s playing while simultaneously watching a DVD on the TV and surfing the Net, and racing from one activity to another without pausing to savor the experience. Our children learn to multi-task, accumulate, use up and discard almost everything - items and people – in their lives without every truly experiencing any of it, and all at an alarming rate.

That is not, ultimately, what I want for my children to learn.

Such, to me, is the art of autism…the ability to develop that soul-searching singular focus and slow “knowing” of one’s self and another…perhaps to ultimately hear and truly understand the silence.

In The Fullness of Time

"The Celtic mind was never drawn to the single line; it avoided ways of seeming and being that seek satisfaction in certainty. The Celtic mind had a wonderful respect for the mystery of the circle and the spiral. The circle is one of the oldest and most powerful symbols. The world is a circle; the sun and moon are too. Even time itself has a circular nature; the day and the year build to a circle. At its most intimate level so does the life of each individual." John O'Donohue

Creeping closer to the end of the year, this particular passage strikes a chord for me. Being Celtic, choices I have made in my life have led me far from the straight and narrow. Time passing this peculiar year has not, by any stretch of the imagination, traveled in any kind of a straight line. Rather, it has dramatically twisted and curved so that I no longer recognize the forward motion of my life. I find myself instead simply seeking direction, similar to being underwater and trying to find which way the bubbles are traveling in order to be able to breathe once again.

I am the proud, and often amazed, mother of four unique individuals, three of them daughters I am in awe of as I watch the strong, talented, extraordinary women they are becoming. My fourth child, born six years behind his next sibling and often called "God's punchline," is my only son, and ironically, my only redhead. He gives new life to the phrase "be careful what you ask for - you just might get it!" He is everything I asked for...and nothing I expected.

For an instant, in the middle of this year, time did not move in any direction - forward, backward, or circular. It stood absolutely still. And when it started again, the direction that my life had been going was irrevocably changed. In that instant, everything I had observed about my son, had agonized over in my heart, and had finally gathered my courage to find out was melded together with crystal clarity. By definition of the medical and educational community, my son was autistic.

I deal with "disabilities" in my other children. Two of my daughters have learning disabilities in the form of severe dyslexia and ADHD. Through hours of personal research, I know these conditions are not simply impairments in learning traditionally, but entire re-wiring of the brains so that their very manner of thinking and relating to the world around them differs from the typical. Not using their "disabilities" as an excuse is something that I work hard to instill within my children...that they are different than "the average bear" may be true, but it makes them no less intelligent, no less capable, and no less a valuable and valued person than anyone else. With my son's diagnosis, however, everything I've come to believe and have taught my children is put to the test.

My son is everything I could have asked for and more... yet, in the space of a few short months since defining his differentness, for most of society he is much, much less. They do not see his courage, his acrobatic grace, his resiliency, his compassion, or his intelligence. They are blinded to those things by behaviors and sounds they don't understand and don't wish to tolerate. Only by becoming "normal" or learning to at least pass for "normal" can he be accepted and valued. And my heart breaks at the thought that to do that for him could, in fact, damage the very spirit, courage, and heart I wish to preserve.

If each of us were to look deep within our own soul to that intimate level of which O'Donohue speaks, all of us would recognize we are disabled in one way or another. For some, our disabilities are scars within that we struggle to overcome, unseen by those around us. Years ago, because of my own internal scars, I believed I couldn't be a single mother of two children and made decisions based on fear. In the circle of time, I was forced to face those fears and move beyond the scars. Now I am the single mother of four children, one of whom fights not only to understand the world around him, but to be understood within it.

In the fullness of time, I am certain that he will do both. Whether society will do the same or not remains to be seen.